In this way he died.
My first impulse on hearing this humble tale of affliction was to
visit the cottage of the mourner, and administer pecuniary assistance,
and, if possible, comfort. I found, however, on inquiry, that the good
feelings of the villagers had prompted them to do every thing that the
case admitted: and as the poor know best how to console each other's
sorrows, I did not venture to intrude.
The next Sunday I was at the village church; when, to my surprise, I
saw the poor old woman tottering down the aisle to her accustomed seat
on the steps of the altar.
She had made an effort to put on something like mourning for her
son; and nothing could be more touching than this struggle between
pious affection and utter poverty: a black ribbon or so- a faded black
handkerchief, and one or two more such humble attempts to express by
outward signs that grief which passes show. When I looked round upon
the storied monuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp,
with which grandeur mourned magnificently over departed pride, and
turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow, at the
altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and praises of a
pious, though a broken heart, I felt that this living monument of real
grief was worth them all.
I related her story to some of the wealthy members of the
congregation, and they were moved by it.
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